


Once.  Twice.  Three Times.

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete can't.  Sometimes Patrick can't, but sometimes he has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once.  Twice.  Three Times.

Pete was done. Patrick could see it in the slump of his shoulders, the way they rolled forward, defeated. He could see it in the lack of expression on his face, the way the muscles were just hanging because he couldn’t summon up the strength to smile or frown. He could hear it in the scuff of his shoes, barely lifting from the ground as he shuffled behind the others, eyes cast downward.

There was no time to commit to any of it, so Patrick just tweaked his elbow or gave him a small smile from across the room or kissed him behind the ear for brief moments they were alone. Each time Pete would give this deep sigh and Patrick would feel the weight of it impact him in the chest. But then they would be running again and there was no time to talk about it.

Pete hadn’t showered in four days. The brief fifteen minutes they had here or there for such tasks had found the boy usually curled up in the corner, eyes squeezed shut hoping he could fall asleep to forget the feeling of falling. Patrick would shake him awake and then they would keep going. No time for it.

But tonight there was a break of sorts. A hotel room on a night with no concert to prepare for the four am morning the next day. Pete was already dragging himself across the room to collapse onto the bed when Patrick intercepted him gently by the arm.

“You need to shower,” he said, almost too sweet but not quite.

“Tomorrow,” Pete lied, his eyes already half closed.

“I’ll wash your hair,” Patrick offered.

“Wash your own hair,” Pete whined, but he didn’t protest when Patrick started tugging the zipper down on his hoodie. “I’m gonna fall asleep and drown.”

Blue eyes rolled behind glasses. “You can’t drown in a shower.” Hands pulled Pete’s shirt over his head and reached down to undo his belt. The toes of Patrick’s shoes lightly kicked Pete’s. “Off,” he whispered.

Pete didn’t look at him, reaching out to steady himself against Patrick as he slipped his shoes off without bending down to undo the laces. He was shivering slightly, maybe. Patrick frowned. It wasn’t cold enough in the room for that. He pushed the denim of Pete’s too tight jeans down, along with cotton underwear. The older boy stepped the rest of the way out of them and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Shower,” Patrick murmured.

Pete shook his head again, resisting half heartedly when the other boy lead him into the bathroom, a gentle hand in the middle of his back. Patrick leaned over to turn the water on, stuck his hand into the jet to test the temperature.

“I don’t–”

“If you won’t take care of yourself, one of us will,” Patrick interrupted in a low voice.

Pete blinked hard once. Twice. Three times and then stepped into the shower, pulling the frosted door closed behind him. Patrick waited a minute before he walked back to the main room, leaving the shower door open as he rummaged through Pete’s suitcase for some clean(er) clothes.

It was less than five minutes that the water turned off, but Pete looked a little cleaner and the lid was up on the shampoo bottle so if he hadn’t washed his hair, at least he’d made enough effort to fake it. Either was good.

Pete had a towel wrapped around his waist and he looked at Patrick with sad eyes before sitting down heavily on the toilet lid. The younger boy bent down to kiss him lightly at the forehead before grabbing another towel and gently drying Pete’s hair. It was already dry on the ends, leaving the slight flare of the curl that Pete couldn’t quite manage to get rid of no matter how many relaxers he used. Patrick ran the hairbrush through it and kissed him again, this time on the mouth. Pete barely responded.

“I can flat iron it in the morning,” Patrick told him. “You’re not going to eat anything I order, are you?”

Pete lowered his eyes and shook his head, his bottom lip trembling. “I’m tired, Patrick.” Tears leaked out of his eyes as he said it and he wiped at them angrily, making a face at the sting in his nose.

The younger boy helped Pete into the soft tee shirt and pajama pants before making him brush his teeth and letting him crawl into bed. He turned out the lights and set the alarm, stripping down to his boxers and crawling in next to Pete. It was barely eight but it hardly mattered.

His arms hadn’t even had a chance to come up before Pete was burying his face in Patrick’s chest. “I’m sorry I’m so fucked up.”

Gentle fingers came up to twist in the dark, wet hair. “I know you’re not like this on purpose.” Patrick ducked his head down, lips pressing against Pete’s temple and holding there. He squeezed him harder. “It’s not your fault.”

“You deserve better.” Pete mumbled bitterly.

“There’s no better.” The younger boy blinked hard once. Twice. Three times and he kissed lifted Pete’s chin and kissed him hard on the month. “I love you,” Patrick whispered, voice desperate. “And I’ll always love you. You’re stuck with me.”

“You’re stuck on me.” Pete’s voice was a combination of sleepy and sad and Patrick kissed him one more time before pulling the boy’s head to his chest again.

“Sleep now, Pete. It’ll be morning soon.”

So Pete slept.


End file.
